The Masked Tool
by Seventh Sunset
Summary: "Master Randall, please! You've got it all wrong! Let me explain!" "Oh, I would love to, but unfortunately, I'm not interested in your explanations!" Fake death had changed Randall, and not for the better. He was definitely more sassy now. A cracky take on what could've (and should've) happened during the confrontation between Randall and his old friends.


_**A/N: I...yea. This was written at 11:00 at night because who needs sleep? There's a bit of language, a touch of Henry bashing (although in reality I really do like him), and just a dash of LaytonxRandall, all for comedic purposes. Also there's a quote from an awesome BBC series thrown in here somewhere, so see if you can find that. If you can find the quote and guess what series it's from, who knows, there may be a little prize in your future.**_

**_Well, consider this a weekend gift from me to all you magical starfish who happen to read. And without further ado, _****_I present whatever crack my half-awake brain has come up with._**

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Hershel narrowed his eyes as the figure in front of him slowly unmasked himself. He had been very surprised to learn that his hunch pertaining to the identity of the Masked Gentleman had been correct, quite astonished that the man he had suspected was capable of causing such chaos, and utterly gobsmacked that the man he had suspected was even here. Hershel had watched him as he fell into that pitch black pit all those years ago…there was no _possible _way he could have survived…or maybe there was. Maybe Hershel had been an awful friend who never even bothered to go and search for conclusive evidence that the boy who he promised to protect had actually…

Hershel clenched his fists. He couldn't think like that right now, couldn't blame himself all over again. He had done that enough in his youth. What mattered here and now was the confrontation that was about to unfold. Hershel spoke very solemnly to the man, now free of his mask. "It pains me to see you like this…Randall."

Angela and Henry had just rushed into the lobby of the Reunion Inn, and there presence was made known by gasps of: "Randall?!" "But how?"

Their old friend grinned viciously, "Hmph. Well isn't this quite the reunion? Now my revenge is at hand!"

Henry slowly walked forward in disbelief, "Master Randall? Is that really you?!"

"It is. Unfortunately for you." Randall then proceeded to deliver a passionate monologue about how Henry had stolen everything from him and how he had returned to get revenge on Henry and everyone else who had wronged him and how Henry would now know the pain Randall had felt all these years, yada yada yada.

_My, he's being a bit of a drama king, _Hershel thought. After all, it wasn't like Henry had been aware that he was stealing anything. It's difficult to determine whether or not you're stealing from someone you thought to be _dead_ for the past eighteen years after falling _god knows how many feet down into a death pit of mummies and mystery _and such.

Angela and Henry were now trying to get Randall to listen to them.

"Randall no! It's not like that!" Angela pleaded.

"Master Randall, please! You've got it all wrong! Let me explain!" Henry begged.

"Oh, I would love to, but unfortunately, I'm not interested in your explanations!" Fake death had changed Randall, and not for the better. He was definitely more sassy now.

Hershel stepped into the conversation in order to defend his other friends. Randall was in the "possible friend-card revocation" zone right now. "You could at least tell us where you've been all these years. I mean, you don't feel the need to contact your friends—who have suffered a great deal of emotional and psychological scarring, thanks not really—and then out of the blue you show up because of some revenge plot that has no basis?" Hershel tipped his hat in a shaming manor. "That was a douche move, Randall. Just because you're all hot and tan now doesn't mean you can go around ruining people's cities like that."

"Just because I'm ...excuse me?" Randall wasn't sure whether to feel offended or flattered. The hot comment was throwing him off.

"It was a douche move, and just because you're tan—"

"Wait," Randall put up a hand defensively, "just because I'm tan that automatically makes me a bad person? I'm sorry, I need someone to explain to me how that makes sense."

Henry stepped up to the challenge. "Well you see, Master Randall, when you were younger you were a…you were sort of.." Henry looked to his friends for descriptions.

"Sort of an oddball," Hershel offered.

"Nerdy," Angela stated.

"A wannabe hipster." This earned Hershel a glare from his Randall. "Oh come on, you couldn't have possibly felt cool wearing that much purpled paired with a _bright orange _ascot. I get the irony that you were trying to emphasize: an Ascot wearing an ascot, but dammit you could have been more subtle about it. And your pants, don't even get me started on your pants! Randall, those pants were sooooo tight. I mean, I'm not complaining because they fit you very nicely, but there was no way those were comfortable to walk in. I watched you try to change into them after fencing practice, and especially when we were in the Akbadain ruins. Trust me, Randall, I could just tell."

Henry and Angela and Randall and Luke and Emmy (who had just been standing off on the sidelines, not too sure what to do with themselves) stared at Hershel, Hershel stared back at them, and thus an awkward silence was created. Henry coughed, "Ah, yes well…we're _definitely _going to revisit that last statement, but for now," He turned back to his old friend, "You see, Master Randall, you were a bit of a nerdy oddball, and because of that you had a fun personality that we liked to be around. But since your fake death you've become tan—"

"You've put on some muscle."

"Um…that too_. _And because of these changes, you seem to have taken on the stereotypical attitude of a tan man—"

"Tan and muscular—"

"_Okay Hershel_. Anyway, the stereotypical attitude of a tan and muscular man is an attitude that most people would describe as rude or insensitive, which would explain why you just randomly appeared out of nowhere and proceeded to cause chaos in Monte d'Or after eighteen long years of no contact with me or anyone else."

Randall looked offended. "Oh I'm _so sorry_ that I didn't write you guys sooner, I was kind of busy trying to get over _amnesia_."

"You had…amnesia?" Henry was stunned.

Angela gasped, "Randall, how awful!"

"Oh, douche move, Henry. Our poor friend had amnesia, and you immediately assume he didn't contact us because he's a tan and muscular nerdy wannabe hipster?"

"B-but _you_ were the one who said all that!" Henry looked at Angela and Randall, "You guys heard Hershel say all of those things, not me, right?!"

Angela gave Henry a stern look, "Henry, now's not the time to be pinning blame on other people. Just say your sorry."

"But—"

Hershel shook his head in disgust. "I'm sorry for Henry, Randall. I would love to hear about what happened after you fell into that scary pit."

"Thank you, Hershel, I'd be happy to share with you. After you dropped me—"

"Okay, clarification: I dropped you _only because_ you tried to shove that stupid mask into my hand."

"Excuse you but: (a) that mask is not stupid and (b) I do believe that I was talking. Rude." Randall huffed and continued. "Anyway, I fell into a deep ravine where I totally could've died and stuff. I mean, how bad would that have sucked? But as fate would have it, a conveniently placed underground river broke my fall. The current washed me onto the banks of a remote village where I was found by a man named Firth. He and the other villagers nursed me back to health, and although I made a full recovery, I couldn't tell the villagers anything about myself. I took up the name Hubert until I regained my memory." This received a spatter of giggles. "AHEM. I worked in the village and hung out with Firth while I tried to regain my memories. Months went by, years went by…and eventually I got tired and decided to just accept my new life as a humble field worker. It was a casual life, and I enjoyed it."

"But how did you regain your memory, Master Randall?"

"Henry, this is an A and B conversation, so C your way out of it before D jumps over E and F's you up." Hershel and Randall slapped high-fives. "Anyway, it seemed that fate had a different plan for me that didn't involve farming. A few days after I gave up my search, a letter came. 'I know all about your past', it read. 'I know who took everything from you. And I know how to get it all back.' The letter went on to recount my life in great detail and said that dickwad Ledore over here had betrayed me. Then the letter told me that all I had to do to get my revenge was don the garb of the masked gentleman. I thought about it, and since I love playing dress up, I accepted in a heartbeat. The letters continued for a while after that, each explaining what miracle I was to perform and how it was to be executed. As I connected with my character on a deeper level, I felt myself returning. The Masked Gentleman brought me back, and I now have a deep love for performing."

Luke randomly joined in the conversation. "The letters…Professor, do you think…?"

"Quiet, Luke. Randall's being sass master right now and he'll complain if we interrupt him again."

"Nah, it's okay guys, I'm finished," Randall assured. "However, we still have a few tears to shed!"

"Master Randall! Wait! If you'd just let me explain—"

"No one cares about your existence, Henry!" Hershel sighed. "Men! You can't deal with them, can you?"

"I'll say!" Angela, Emmy (who had also randomly joined the conversation), and Randall chorused.

Henry was beside himself, "That doesn't even make sense coming from Hershel or Randall! Ugh, why is everyone suddenly against me?!"

"Darling," Angela said as she placed a soothing hand on his arm, "Do shut up, please. You're lowering the IQ of the entire room."

"Henry, you seemed like an okay dude when I first met you,"Luke began, "Not cool really, more like sketchy and cold actually, but you had a pretty cool city so we were casual. But now that I've gotten to know you, I can't say my respect for you is really that strong. Was your fancy city and life really worth the happiness of your best friend?"

"THAT'S IT!" Henry shouted. He was fed up with everyone at this point, and was not in the mood to listen to any more criticism. "First thing's first: _I did not steal anything from Master Randall._ I didn't steal his fortune, I didn't steal his girlfriend, nope, uh-uh, haven't been there didn't do that. I built this city so Master Randall would have a place to return to when he came back. I mean I thought _Reunion_ Inn was obvious enough, but I guess not."

"Wait…you knew I wasn't dead?" Randall sounded shocked.

Hershel patted his friend's back, "There, there. If it makes you feel any better, I had no faith that you were alive until a few days ago."

"No, Master Randall, I didn't know that you were still alive, but I had a hunch."

"But…But Angela—"

"Oh, right!" Angela facepalmed, "I should have mentioned this earlier: Henry and I never actually got married, Randall. We pretended to, but that was only so I could avoid marrying Dalston. Instead of wedding vows, we exchanged vows promising to wait for your return."

Everyone sighed at Angela's poetic words. Everyone except Randall and Henry. Randall was too overcome with emotion to respond, and Henry had curled up in a corner of the lobby because he was not too fond of people at the moment.

Randall sank to his knees, "I…Henry I…"

"You've been an insensitive prick? Oh, Randall, I completely agree!"

"Yes, I have been, and I apologize! You were waiting for my return…both you and Angela…you had faith that I was alive…"

"Yea, that's what I just said," Henry mumbled sarcastically."Why don't you just go talk to your little pen pal and go get some more instructions on how to be the Masked Tool." Hershel and Henry slapped air high-fives.

Randall hung his head in shame. "Henry, I should have never listened to Descole—"

"_PFFFFFFFFFT, _Descole?!"Luke began to laugh hysterically, "You actually took orders from Descole?!" Layton and Emmy now joined in with the laughter.

"You must have been pretty screwed up in the head to listen to a man who looks like the Phantom of the Opera!" Emmy slapped her knee.

Randall blushed and frantically tried to explain himself, "I know I was wrong, but you have to understand how fragile I was at the time! My memory had just come flooding back, and I wasn't in a state to be making rational decisions! Please, you have to listen!"

Henry rolled out of his corner and stood in front of the pleading man. "Look, I get the whole amnesia thing, and I accept your apology. But, I do not forgive you for causing havoc in my city. You're going to have to clean that up yourself." Randall nodded vigorously. Henry turned to leave, as did everyone else, save Randall. Just as they were about to open the door, a woman in a wheelchair burst through.

"Randall? Is he here?"

"Right here, Mrs. Ascot." Henry pointed in the direction of her son.

"Mom?!" Randall blinked in disbelief.

"Oh, I forgot to mention: Not only did I build an entire city for your return and keep your girlfriend from getting married, but I've also been caring for your mother as well." Henry was obviously having a grand time playing the guilt card.

Mrs. Ascot wheeled her way over to where Randall was knelt in the lobby. "I heard everything that you and the others were saying. Randall…were you really responsible for all of this mess?" Randall nodded, ashamed of his actions. His mother sighed, "Well, Randall, I only have one thing to say in regards to that."

"Yes, mom?"

Mrs. Ascot placed a hand on her son's shoulder. "Douche move, son. Douche move."

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_**A/N: I've actually been pretty consistent with updates these past few weeks...maybe this is a good sign for the future? *crosses fingers***_

_**Remember: if anyone can find the quote I mentioned at the beginning and name the series it's from, there may be a prize. Even if you don't find it, leave a review anyway. I love hearing what you guys have to say!**_

**_Until next time,_**

**_-Lizz_**


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